


need

by threadoflife



Series: femlock verse [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Breast Worship, Cunnilingus, F/F, Female Sherlock Holmes, Female Sherlock Holmes/Female John Watson, Femlock, Femslash, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 09:54:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12679500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threadoflife/pseuds/threadoflife
Summary: Sherlock adores John's breasts.





	need

**Author's Note:**

> written at 4am, take it like that
> 
> sorry for title I can't English rn

John stretches prettily around Sherlock’s fingers.

She’s always so tight, at first; as if she hasn’t been fucked in a while, as if Sherlock hadn’t had those same fingers and her favourite silicone prick up in her at least every second night this week. But this cunt, this pretty, wonderful cunt, always was so tight at first: Sherlock tests the waters first with her index finger up to the first knuckle, just letting it rest inside that pulsing heat while she eats away messily at John’s clit. In time, the pulsing slows, the heat relaxes—opens. Right before Sherlock’s face, John’s cunt begins to open wider from the inside, begins to gape. Begins to want filling.

In utter, bone-deep satisfaction, Sherlock sighs a deep sigh against John’s outer labia. She murmurs, “Yes,” against it, rejoices in the way the matted pubic hair sticks wetly to the corner of her mouth when she speaks. She’s pressed with the entire half of her face against John’s cunt. From cheekbone to mouth corner, she peels John apart, opening those swollen lips up for her.

“Sherlock,” John says. “Sherlock.” Her voice is deep but breathy in that unique vocal combination John has. With her fingers in Sherlock’s hair—kneading like a cat, impatiently, hornily—she says nothing else, just Sherlock’s name, as she lies with her legs spread and her right over Sherlock’s shoulder back on the bed, gasping for air.

Her breathing is shallow, light. The wet sucking sounds of Sherlock slowly filling her with fingers—one, and two, and after a breathless moment, three—drown her breathing out. It’s slick; it’s wet. When Sherlock pops out and keeps John spread with just her fingertips and draws all the wetness out with her, it’s even wetter: because Sherlock bends down, careless for the awkward angle on her back and the heavy weight of John’s thick thigh on her shoulder, and laps away the juice that pools right out from underneath her fingers, from John’s greedy little cunt.

The shiny, thickish sap of her lust is a bit salty, is warm. It slides off the tip of Sherlock’s tongue to the middle of it, where it dissolves and becomes sweeter. Sherlock, hungry and mad with the scent of John’s damp arousal so cloying and tight in her nose, rumbles out a noise and pushes her tongue inside, stiffening it into a wet, peaked tip, and fucks the quivering space at the bottom of John’s cunt which her own fingers keep open. It’s wet on wet: slick and damp, Sherlock’s swollen, moist lower lip pressed against the dripping end of John’s cunt, her upper lip flat against John’s lips, teeth a careful, edgy hardness against which John, Sherlock’s little danger whore, rubs herself off.

The urgency in her slut-wet tiny hip shoves against Sherlock’s row of front teeth shocks Sherlock’s cunt; it spasms between her legs, stupidly, continuously, heat coiling tight around her clit. She has to pull away because the sensation is too much and seeks comfort between John’s tits. Pushing John’s thigh off her shoulder so she can hold her left breast—large, and soft, such a delectable heavy weight Sherlock’s large hand can’t span entirely—against her face, Sherlock nuzzles mindlessly into the warmth of her, begins to suck and bite at the nipple until it’s red and puffy and John is tugging with helpless little cries at her hair. Not to get her off there, of course: to keep her there. For just a little more pain. For just one more bite.

After Sherlock has stuffed her fingers inside her again, using their dexterity and length to softly, insistently tease that G-spot that makes John a pliant, needy whore—among all the squelching and the fucking—under her cheek, John’s chest begins to heave. She begins to say Sherlock’s name in a panicked whisper, breath heavy on the vowels, dragged out of her throat: “Shhheeeerlock,” she groans, and, “ah,” and, “haahhh,” and she forces her right hand between the mess of their bodies to rub furiously over her pubic mound, dipping the skin there down and up and down and up to stretch her clit tight and thin between her cunt lips—and oh, oh,  _yes_ , this is Sherlock’s favourite: her face is full of John’s tits, those heaving, heavy beauties shoved right against Sherlock’s cheeks and mouth when John arches her back and grinds out, “Fffffhhhuuuuck,” and comes convulsing around Sherlock’s three fingers.

Sherlock is content to let her fuck the rest of her orgasm out on her fingers, content to let her ride the own heel of her palm with the lingering muscle spasms of her wonderful cunt. She’s got a face full of John’s tits, and she couldn’t be happier.


End file.
